


follow just to find you

by Acai



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam's in his second year of college, Bad Dreams, Cuddling, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, post-trk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23485957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acai/pseuds/Acai
Summary: Last Summer, Adam slept like the dead. This summer, Ronan’s been waking up to the sheets pushed back and the door left cracked open.Ronan figures he’s not ready to talk about the recurring dreams that have been drawing him out of bed in the middle of the night to ghost down the stairs and linger on the porch like a specter.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 6
Kudos: 181





	follow just to find you

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: 12am, Vireau  
> twitter/insta: Vireau_

Ronan knows Adam.

He knows all the intricacies of him that shape him into the way that he is. He can tell with a  _ glance  _ what kind of day he’s having, or what he thinks of the food that he’s eating, or if he’s too hot or too cold. 

But, for the same reasons that Ronan knows Adam, he also doesn’t know Adam.

Adam likes to be known, in some ways. Ronan knows that Adam is secretly pleased whenever Ronan remembers the way that he likes his tea, or when he makes pasta and keeps the meat out because he knows that Adam hates it mixed. 

So he also knows that Adam is secretive, and he holds things about him close, and, to Adam, giving those things away is a delicate choice. Ronan knows that there’s things about Adam--ranging from miniscule to monstrous--that he doesn’t know, that he’ll never know. There’s a thin line in Adam’s mind that separates the things that people are allowed to know, the things that he  _ wants _ people to know, and the things that he’s decided nobody is ever allowed to know.

Knowing Adam means knowing that there’s a line, and knowing that crossing the line is not only impossible but also wildly discouraged. Ronan could argue and push and pry until the cows came home, but he’d still have no answer, and the resulting argument would drag on for days. 

The things that Adam says, he says when he’s ready. 

If he never wants to say them, he doesn’t ever say them. 

And that’s fine--Ronan would never describe himself as someone who  _ needs  _ to know things. He’s never laid awake at night wondering about Adam’s off-limits second grade year or Adam’s equally-off-limits ankle scar. He’s wondered, because he’s human, and because it’s Adam, and because he loves Adam; but Adam tends to say the things that really need to be said, and Ronan’s not the Repressed Memories Police. 

By the time that Adam’s spending his summer before sophomore year at the Barns, Ronan’s learned the way it goes best: Adam says the things that he wants to say when he’s ready to say them. 

So, Ronan figures, he’s not ready to talk about the recurring dreams that draw him out of bed in the middle of the night to ghost down the stairs and linger on the porch like a specter. 

Last Summer, Adam slept like the dead. This summer, Ronan’s been waking up to the sheets pushed back and the door left cracked open. 

Adam’s fine--if he were moping around, or seemed upset, it would be a different story. But in the  _ daytime  _ nothing’s changed. He still wakes up at the same time as Ronan, even though he hasn’t got farm chores to do. He still tags along for the chores, yawning and bunching his sweater around his hands to keep them warm in the cool morning air; still goes out of his way to fuck with Ronan by inching the buckets back  _ just a bit  _ whenever Ronan isn’t looking. 

If they didn’t share a literal bed, Ronan wouldn’t have known anything had changed. But, they do.

So Ronan wakes up, rolls over, and finds the right side of the bed empty. The clock is yelling at him that it’s nearly three, and the room is completely silent except for the fan. 

When Ronan’s feet hit the ground, they protest the cold hardwood bitterly. This is so un-new by now that Ronan’s main thought is,  _ maybe I should start wearing socks to bed,  _ even as he pulls the creaky door open the rest of the ways and starts down the stairs. 

He checks the kitchen first. Sometimes Adam is there, sitting on the floor with his back to the cabinets. Tonight the kitchen is empty. There’s a soda can on the ground with a bite taken out of it, but Ronan has a pretty good feeling that was  _ not  _ Adam’s doing. 

The living room is empty, too. Adam’s only gone there once, and he’d been laying on his back on the rug and staring up at the ceiling, instead of--you know, on the couch, like a normal human being. 

The mudroom holds a vow of silence and gives no answers when Ronan peers in, which just leaves the front porch. Sure enough, Adam is there, balanced up on the railing with one knee drawn up to his chest. 

“Cold out tonight, Chief,” Ronan comments, leaning against the railing next to him. 

Adam flexes his fingers, but doesn’t answer. 

Without conversation, they’re left just to exist in each other’s company for a long stretch of moments. It’s a pitch-black night out with no moon. The only light comes in short blips from fireflies, and every now and then an owl cries for attention. 

Adam’s eyes drag away from the nothing they were planted on before, and it takes a moment before his vision clears up and his gaze focuses on Ronan. 

“No socks,” he observes, after a long moment. 

“No shit, Sherlock,” Ronan replies, and he pulls his eyes away to watch down the driveway. “My feet are cold as hell.”

They’re quiet again, long enough that Adam’s gaze unfocuses once more. Ronan watches a field mouse while he waits. 

He’s just come to the verdict that the mouse doesn’t appreciate the owl at all when Adam shifts, swinging his legs over the side of the railing and hopping back down to the porch. 

“Had enough Parrish Alone Time?” Ronan asks, and the screen door creaks in protest at being opened. Adam doesn’t answer, but Ronan thinks it’s because the question was rhetorical and not because he’s back to being a space cadet. 

They stop in the kitchen on the way back up to bed. Ronan picks up the soda can to put into recycling. 

He fills a glass with water, and as he hands it off to Adam, asks, “do you want to talk about it?”

This, too, is a rhetorical question. Adam will answer, but they both already know what the answer is. If Adam  _ did  _ want to talk about it, Ronan would be willing. He might even, daresay, be eager for such an opportunity. 

Adam shakes his head and accepts the water. He sips at it gingerly, as if it’s a strong drink of something that’s not sink water at three in the goddamn morning. 

“You’re going to be tired tomorrow,” Adam comments. As though they don’t wake up at the same time to go and do the same thing. 

Ronan shrugs. “Nothin’ new.” 

What he  _ means  _ is  _ I never sleep enough anyway, and I’m pretty sure I never had a good night’s sleep in all of high school, so I feel tired all the freakin’ time and it’s not a problem.  _

What he’s sure Adam hears is  _ I am used to being tired lately because you are always waking me up with your Adam Issues, and I am physically exhausted by this,  _ if Adam’s cringe is anything to go by. 

Ronan knocks his shoulder, steals his water cup to put in the sink, and starts up the stairs to go back to bed. 

Adam follows, because where Ronan leads, he goes. He’s always been a vagabond on his own, but at some point he’d settled more. This time last year, Adam’s things had been neatly compacted into his bag, and he’d left things just as they were when he came in. Like a ghost who had never been there at all. He’d come and gone, to work and to errands and then home again like a quiet apparition. 

Now, Adam’s got a hoodie strewn over the back of the couch and a mug on the kitchen table, and his clothes have found homes places to tuck away while they’re not in use. 

They go back up to the bedroom. 

Ronan puts on a pair of socks. 

Adam sits down in the middle of the bed, watching Ronan tug them onto his feet and swearing as he stumbles. A shiver passes through his body, and he gives a glance over at the fan, but doesn’t move to turn it off. Adam is weird like that--he’s content to shiver, and Ronan might think it was an overflow of Adam-ness, but Adam Parrish is strange and likes the cold, and so Ronan doesn’t whack him with a pillow or turn the fan off. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ronan asks, collapsing heavily onto the bed. 

Adam shrugs. “Not really.”

“Shocking,” Ronan answers, because they’ve had this conversation all summer. Adam gives him a dry, unamused look. “You know how people say that if you glare too long, your face will stick like that? What’s the emotional equivalent?”

“You’re very funny,” Adam replies, and gets up to turn off the bedroom light. He gets into bed again, watching Ronan with a look on his face that Ronan can’t quite discern. 

They’re quiet again. Existing together in the dark with nothing to say to the other for a long stretch of moments. Maybe he’ll push. Just this once. 

“Is it bad?”

Adam raises an eyebrow.

“The dream,” Ronan clarifies. “Is it bad?” 

Adam considers this, which is better than him snorting and rolling over to go to sleep without answering. “No. It’s not bad.”

“It wakes you up, though,” Ronan points out.

“It ends,” Adam replies. 

They’re both on their sides, watching each other. “I don’t see why a good dream would make you get up in the middle of the night.”

“I don’t really think about it,” Adam answers, expression a little cloudy. “I wake up, and I go downstairs, and I think about the dream. But I don’t really realize I’ve gotten up until…” He pauses.  _ Until you come get me  _ goes unsaid. “Like I have to work through it, and it won’t stop until I do.” 

“Okay.” Ronan swallows, and Adam’s eyes shift back into focus. “What’s the dream about?”

Adam is quiet again, stretching out one of his fingers to trail a line along Ronan’s cheekbone. He leaves his fingers resting there, watching Ronan, and Ronan knows the conversation is finished. 

Ronan shifts, reaching out to tug Adam closer to him, and Adam curls in closer. He tucks his face into Ronan’s neck. Habitually, Ronan drapes his arm over Adam, and his fingers find their way to the hair that’s started to grow out longer, down Adam’s neck.

They still fit together. 

They stay like that until Adam’s breathing evens out, and it’s never very long after that happens before Ronan’s does the same. 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: 12am, Vireau  
> twitter/insta: Vireau_
> 
> Leave a comment and let me know what you thought! Thanks.


End file.
